


I'll Take Care Of You

by somebodytoldme



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, good ending however
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebodytoldme/pseuds/somebodytoldme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m not any Romeo and you ain’t Juliet, you prick.”<br/>Michael is sick and Gavin takes care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Take Care Of You

It started with a slight backache, and Michael brushed it off as his new mattress. It wasn’t like he was going to be a baby and whine about it, but after a couple weeks of continuous pain, he decided that he’d better buy a new mattress. That didn’t help.

The next thing he noticed was when they were busy lifting heavy equipment in the office, that he couldn’t lift much. His arms felt like limp noodles at his sides, and god, his body ached. 

But he didn’t give in. No, not until he supposedly passed out at the office, Ryan finding him in the kitchen laying face down in the tile, that he determined he had better see a doctor. Concerned that he couldn’t drive himself, Geoff offered to take him, and Gavin tagged along.

They tell him he has a cancerous tumor on his spine. And he didn’t believe it, hell he still can’t, but it is there. He would have never ever thought something like this could happen to him. He was young, healthy, and invincible. Why the fuck was this happening to him? They ask that he stays in the hospital that night, and they start him on chemo the next day.

—-

He fucking hates everything that is his pathetic life. How, he took for granted the ability to run, jump, and wrestle. How he took for granted being able whatever the hell he wanted without wanting to heave it up the moment it hit his stomach. 

He misses his hair, that Ray helped him shave off a few days ago… He figured it was better than watching it slowly go down the shower drain. He longingly touches the new A.H. beanie that Geoff and Griffon got him.

“Hey, is your appointment later today?” Gavin asks from where he is sat, and Michael just nods. “Ok, I’ll drive.”

And he is infinitely thankful that his friend doesn’t take no for an answer. Gavin had gotten his license last month, when he had heard that Michael took the bus back and forth to the hospital (since driving after getting shot up with chemo was a terrible idea). It was after that, that Gavin insisted that he drive. He really owed the guy, even more so, when the guy just shrugged last time he got sick on the ride back… How he just cleaned it up and said “it happens”.

“Thanks,” he says, like usual, because he hardly ever says it enough.

Gavin gives him a small smile, one that Michael misses because he rarely sees it these days… These days are tight on them all. They all try to crack jokes, but beneath it all is a shallow effort to pretend all is normal. “Of course, you’re my boy, Michael.”

The words warm his chilled bones.

—-

About two months in and Michael has lost a lot of muscle mass. Not only that, but he finds it harder and harder to find the desire to eat. He forces himself to eat dinner every night, even though he probably will get sick during the night.

And then it starts with a granola bar on his desk. Then an apple, then yogurt, and tea with ginger…. Tea, on his fucking desk. It isn’t long after that he catches Gavin coming in early one morning to leave a banana or some sort of snack at his station.

One day, in the car, he mentions to the idiot how the tea with ginger actually did help settle his stomach. The moron smiles broadly, claiming, that he did his research. As dumb as it is, Michael is touched because he never had somebody care enough to… research it.

—-

It’s been five months. Michael is done.

He is so fucking sick of his life. He is sick of feeling like shit all the time. He is sick of riding to the same fucking hospital all the time. He is tired of fighting. What is even the point? The chemo is clearly not working… It is killing him. He looks in the mirror, and he doesn’t know who is looking back these days. It has sucked the fury, the jersey right out of him, he can’t even do his job these days. He is DONE.

Gavin grabs his keys, and as they are walking out into the car lot, Michael decides this it. He stops in his tracks. Gavin doesn’t seem to notice, he just unlocks the door, and begins to slide in… It takes the idiot a moment to notice that, obviously, Michael isn’t coming. He steps out of the car looking bewildered and slightly concerned, “Michael?”

“I’m done.”

The look of disbelief on Gavin’s face is almost comical, “what?”

“I’m done, Gavin. No more. I can’t… No more.”

A shadow passes over the Brit’s face. “What are you talking about, Michael?”

“Fucking hell! I said I was done! Gavin, I am done! I am done with the fucking chemo! I am so tired, and it isn’t working. I am dying, and I am DONE.” It bursts out of Michael like a rocket, and he is surprised by the own volume of his voice mixed with desperation . It’s the loudest he’s been in a long time.

He is standing there panting, and he doesn’t know how to describe Gavin’s face. He can’t even bear to look at it. It is despair and fury. Mostly fury, the Brit’s face was flushed with anger, and then he marched up, fists balled… They were chest to chest, Gavin’s green eyes dark as he stared down at Michael and it was a bit terrifying.

“You’re done, when I say you’re done,” he whispers voice rugged and thick. “Understood?” 

Michael has never seen him like this before, and he is so shaken up he just nods. Gavin holds his gaze for another minute, before marching back towards the car. Michael obediently follows.

On the ride there, he notices how Gav’s knuckles turn white on the wheel. He notices the dark circles of under his eyes, and his gauntness of his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

Michael doesn’t miss another day.

—-

He gets better. The chemo is working, and Michael even gets to take a break, as long as he goes in for regular check ups. It is the best time of his life.

He still eats like a bird during the day, but most if it he maintains. He plays video games with Gavin and the guys again. He even does a few new episodes of Rage Quit, because why the hell not? 

Most of all, he doesn’t take a second for granted.

He kisses Gavin for the first time in the hospital parking lot. It is wonderful.

They make love for the first time at his apartment. And although they have to stop several times, as Michael’s back still has pains… It is still perfect because Gavin is infinitely patient with him.

He tells Gavin to spend the night the third time. And a while later, they move his stuff in.

—-

And it is going great. Things are too good to be true, and Michael knows before it even happens, that it is going to bite him in the ass.

Actually it bites him in the upper spine, because apparently the cancer has now spread.

He isn’t shocked when he hears the news. In fact, a sick part of him is relieved that it has finally happened. That he doesn’t have to wait for the bad news any more. 

They say he needs to have surgery immediately. They schedule him for the end of the week. They say he has a fifty percent chance, just as long as it hasn’t spread any further. He is okay.

Gavin is furious. The first night he is silent. The second night they are together, he gives Michael the most painful orgasm of his life. The third, he paces and yells blasphemy at the wall while Michael watches. The fourth, he holds Michael painfully tight. The fifth he doesn’t come home. The sixth they make love for the last time. The seventh, the last, he cries.

—-

He’s laying on the bed, and he’s listening to the noisy snotty nosed Gavin sniffling into a pack of tissues. If he had the energy, he’d tell the idiot to cut it out already… “Gavin, please,” he groans because he can not do this right now.

He doesn’t stop though, instead he reaches for Michael’s hand with his own warm, clammy one. “I don’t know if I can live without you, Michael.”

As painfully pathetic Gavin sounds, voicing both their fears, he can’t help but snort at the statement. “Of course you can, you fucking moron. I’m not any Romeo and you ain’t Juliet, you prick,” and goddamn it all that his words become thick, “of course you can.” He swallows because he can’t cry. Not here and now, he can’t cry and say goodbye.

“I can’t, I can’t, not without you…” Gavin is lost to him now, his shoulders slumped miserably, and the grip on his hand tight as a vice. “Michael, Michael, you’re my boy…”

“Shut up, idiot,” he says without conviction because the tears are winning. Leave it to Gavin to push him over the edge.

The nurse just has to come in at that point, graciously ignoring the fact they are both fucking messes, and announces it is time for him to be put under. As she readies the needle into to shoot up into his IV, he squeezes Gavin’s hand to gather his attention.

The moron is all snot and salty tears, but he doesn’t care. This is all he needs, and if he doesn’t come up again, at least the last thing he sees is…. God, he is so fucking corny, but he is also on his plausible death bed- so fuck it!

“Hey, Gavin,” he whispers as the nurse takes the cap off the needle, he finds each second suddenly precious. Watching those green eyes swarm with emotion.

“Hey, Michael,” he whispers in return, a watery smile appears.

It is so fucking perfect, god, he is so perfect. He just lays there, dumbfounded in watching tears fall down that beautiful smile. Down his life’s love’s face. The drugs are taking over, and he hears the nurse calling out orders, but he doesn’t care. He tries to fight it, tries to stay here, with Gavin. It’s so hard, so hard…

“Gav,” was the last thing Gavin heard, just before Michael was lost to the world. And he, himself, also.

—-

“Motherfucker! Can I get a fucking functioning chair, OH MY GOD, MOVE!” 

“Michael, Michael,” comes the annoying laughter behind him, “you have it on lock.”

“Oh,” and if he doesn’t look like a dumbass now. He reaches down and pulls the lever, and thankfully, the wheels now move with him. The whole gang is there, everybody looking equally relieved and amused… Him? he just wants to get the hell out of the hospital already, it has been few months in recovery, and then in therapy… And then more tests just to make sure all of cancer is gone. 

And it is, truly, gone this time. And even though the doctors say it will be a while before he can properly walk again, Michael could really give a shit. All he knows is that he is here now… With his family. With his Gavin.

“Hey,” he mutters, pulling on his boyfriends sleeve as he listens to the rest chatter among themselves. 

Gavin looks down at him, and rolls his eyes at Michael’s kiss-me-now expression. He does anyway, giving him it to him soft and sweet. 

Michael sighs into the kiss, and marvels at the way Gavin’s hand tugs lightly at his short hair. And everything finally feels right in the universe.

“That’s my boy,” Gavin whispers.

“It’s my turn. I’ll take care of you now,” Michael promises.

Gavin laughs.


End file.
